


They

by Lucy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy/pseuds/Lucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that their relationship is a secret. It's just that it's impossible to explain. Klainofsky future!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is unabashed Klainosfky right here. Written to fill several different requests from different people. This is future!fic, with hints of a D/s thing going on, but not anything hard core.

It's not that Colin actually  _hates_ Kurt and Blaine. That would be ridiculous. Colin doesn't hate people, for one, and even if he did, the two of them would probably be the hardest people to hate he's ever met in his life.

They're happy guys, always talkative and warm and welcoming. They're  _nice_ , which is rare in any kind of show business, even at the barely-paying theatrical company level. They're insanely talented, they're both attractive in very different ways. They have been uniformly kind to everyone Colin has ever seen them talking to.

Kurt can lean towards sarcasm and on bad days he can be a little short-tempered, and Blaine has a tendency to upstage people when he's not reeled in by whoever their director is from show to show. But if those are the biggest faults Colin can find (and they are – he's been looking), then they're really not worth mentioning. After all, Kurt's shortness tends to come from real tiredness and frustration, and who hasn't been there? And Blaine...Colin is a cynical bastard about other actors and their egos, but he actually believes Blaine when he says he doesn't mean to steal focus during a scene.

He doesn't hate Blaine or Kurt. And he's  _tried_. He just can't. They are unhateable. He likes them, damn it.

They just really confuse him.

Everyone assumed that they were together from the start. They auditioned for the company together, they come to every rehearsal and every after-rehearsal outing together. They've known each other for ages, and with the availability of easily-accessible, hot and interested gay actors around them, it's obvious that they aren't looking to hook up with anyone else.

But now no one is really sure. The theatre is a pretty damned liberal environment: most of the cast and crew are envious gay boys or sassy girls who want nothing more than to watch two pretty guys making out, but they have never so much as kissed that Colin has ever seen. They touch each other sometimes, but only in the casual ways everyone touches. Patting hands, nudging shoulders, an elbow to the side or a tap on the shoulder for attention.

Casual. Nothing worth noting at all. Hell, Blaine's more open with Colin than with Kurt – he tends to greet the guys he knows the best with hugs and occasional kisses on the cheek, but he hasn't hugged Kurt once.

Sad thing is, Colin does know Blaine better than a lot of the guys. Blaine and Kurt's second year in the company, Colin and Blaine got cast twice in a row in some pretty interweaving roles, and rehearsing together and running lines and discussing motivations and character histories took them out to bars or diners pretty frequently for a while. He knows Blaine better than other people in the company know him, but he still doesn't know anything about him, really. Not personally.

Colin's kind of a nosy guy: he's nearing forty, he's come to terms with himself. He accepts his nosiness the same way he accepts that watching Kurt and Blaine and constantly wondering about them is based in some pretty serious envy.

But come on: they're young, they're gorgeous. Kurt is this ridiculously pretty cupie doll with skin so pale and perfect it might be ceramic. He sings like an angel whose balls never dropped, and one flash of those blue eyes at the right moment has made audiences cringe or weep in turn. Blaine is something out of one of those teen-dream magazines at the newstands. Charming and handsome, just enough trace of some exotic genes to make him perpetually mysterious, and when he's playing the hero there isn't a person in the audience who doesn't want him the moment he strides out on stage.

There's a lot to be jealous of there. Their youth, their looks, their talent. Their closeness: nobody knows if they're together or not, but everyone knows that if they aren't fucking then that's _all_ they don't share.

So yeah, Colin is jealous. And he's nosy. He watches too closely. He moves quietly hoping to overhear some clue when they're huddled together talking and grinning at each other like they aren't glued at the hip every moment of the day.

"It's impossible," Julie, Colin's favorite hag and his best friend in the company, said once when they were talking about the Wonder Twins, "for anyone to be that close to either of those boys and not be fucking them.  _I_  want to fuck them, for god's sake. If they were all up in my space the way they are with each other, I'd definitely be making that shit happen somehow. Roofies. Something."

And it is kind of a cliché but based in truth that a lot of friends in the gay community have either fucked or are just biding their time until the circumstances are right. Maybe just the theatrical gay community, whatever. That's life as Colin knows it. 

Seems impossible that they haven't, but it seems unlikely that if they were fucking they'd bother keeping it quiet.

He doesn't get it.

Colin's nosy, and a little too old to waste time obsessing over something like this for too long before it stops being fun. So...eventually he decides he's tired of trying to stumble on the truth.

Eventually, he just asks.

It's Kurt he corners – Kurt is a little more ballsy than Blaine, less likely to be prudish about silence. Kurt's the blunt one.

But Kurt just blinks at him like he's speaking Moldovian. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Blaine. What are you?"

"What  _are_ we? Do you want, like, a scientific answer or something more philosophical?" Kurt's grinning already, which just tells Colin that he knows damn well what Colin's asking about. "Are we the substance of a god's dreams? Are we mammals? Give me some direction here."

Kids. Colin rolls his eyes but obediently just comes out with it. "Are you fucking? Are you together? Are you _eunuchs_?"

Kurt laughs (pretty, high and light and fuck him anyway). "Ohhh, that. Safe to say neither of us are eunuchs." His eyes go behind Colin as if looking for Blaine. Or distraction.

They're backstage, and everyone's too busy celebrating (Secret Garden closes tonight, it might not be the right time for a question and answer session, but Colin's lived through a thousand closing nights, it's nothing sacred anymore) and no one comes to Kurt's aid.

Colin waits until Kurt looks back at him. "Well? It's an easy question. What kind of relationship do you guys actually have?"

Kurt opens his mouth. He hesitates. He smiles a little, like there's some private answer in his mind that he doesn't want to share.

God, to be in his twenties again, and sure that everything about his private life is fascinating and deep. Colin sighs.

"It's just...it's not..."

Kurt's got a smudge of foundation under his jaw, and it's distracting. Colin either wants to grab a wet-wipe or lick it off, he can't decide.

"There's no real, um...it's not all that—"

"Kurt!"

They both look over.

Blaine, of course, flushed from removing his makeup, hair disheveled, eyes dark with eyeliner he didn't get all the way off. There's a look on his face Colin is used to seeing on opening nights – excitement, anticipation so huge it seems to vibrate through him.

He doesn't even seem to notice Colin. He rushes up to Kurt and grabs his arm with both hands, and his eyes are fucking  _beautiful_ lit up like there's a spot shining right on him.

"He's here," he says breathlessly.

Colin's eyebrows rise. He? Well well, who is 'he'? Agent? Director? Critic? Jesus-who-is-the-Christ?

Kurt's entire face changes. The slightly smug grin blooms into something huge, something bright and wide-open that all but splits his face in half. "Oh my God!"

Blaine beams.

"He said he wasn't going to...oh my God!" Kurt wheels and dives towards the nearest mirror. "Oh god, my hair is-"

"Kurt, come on! He's here  _now_!"

Kurt looks back at Blaine through the mirror and they share a moment, excited and thrilled and glowing from it. He doesn't look back at his reflection (which is notable: Kurt Hummel loves himself a mirror), just turns to Blaine and grabs his hand when Blaine reaches out, and the two go bouncing off towards the thick of the cast and crew and encroaching guests.

Well. Colin's not about to stay behind.

He heads after them, sliding around actors excitedly stripping off costumes and makeup, or crew hustling around doing actual work, or visitors wandering around with wide eyes like the backstage of a theatre is fucking Narnia.

He pays them no mind. He's on a mission here. He keeps his eye on Kurt's impeccable hair since Blaine's shorter and easier to lose in a crowd. He stays behind but close, following them towards the side door that lets out into the alley near the crew parking lot.

The door's open, letting in unwelcome cold air, and Colin looks past Kurt to the door when he feels the breeze.

He stops in his tracks.

Okay, he doesn't know what the hell's going on, but he has absolutely no fucking doubt who 'he' is.

'He' is standing against the wall by the door, watching the crowds moving and chattering around him. Light hazel eyes are crinkled in vague amusement, like they're still acting out a show just for him. Framed with dark hair just long enough to curl in places, and a pair of arched eyebrows that some genius at some salon must obsess over for  _hours_ over to get just right like that.

He's in a pair of distressed jeans (the  _distress_  seems to come from their desperate attempt to cling to thighs so solid and firm that Colin's mouth waters) a blue button-down shirt stretched over a solid chest, a dark jacket that frames broad shoulders.

Colin has this recurring fantasy about running into one of the Cincinnati Bengals after a home game, and if the anonymous Bengal in his dreams doesn't look just like this guy...he's sure as fuck going to from now on.

Jesus Christ, if Colin didn't have a fucking  _domestic partner_ at home...

Colin's not the only one gawking at this stranger. He spots Julie over by the costume racks, her mouth just wide open and gaping as she stares. The ridiculously femme assistant director, Pete, is over by the sound monitors, and the look on his face is practically vulgar. Colin can  _see_ the things Pete wants to do to this guy.

God, even Jackie, their Nazi stage manager. She hates everybody who has ever or will ever live on this earth, but she's eying the newcomer like she's suddenly willing to make an exception.

Colin looks back at 'He' as Kurt and Blaine fight their way through the incoming stream of people that inevitably crowd a backstage after closing night of any show.

They stumble their way into the clear and approach him side by side, and those excited grins on their faces haven't eased up in the slightest.

'He' turns his head as they approach, seeing them coming. He straightens up off the wall, and the smile that tugs at his lips is small and private.

Colin's not close enough to hear them, but he sees Blaine speaking, can practically hear the way his words all tumble over each other like always when he's excited. He sees Kurt nodding in response to whatever Blaine's saying. He sees that both of them keep their gazes glued on this guy like he might blink out of existence if they turn away.

Shit. Colin'd probably look at him that way, too.

He suddenly holds up a hand, and Blaine's words cut off instantly, and Kurt's all but bouncing on his toes in barely-concealed excitement.

He's holding two flowers. Miniature - so small and delicate they must have been bred that way – deep red roses on short stems. He smiles at Kurt and Blaine, taking one flower in each hand and stretching them out.

He speaks. Just briefly, a few words at most. His mouth opens and he smiles through his words and he holds out those flowers, and Jesus. His eyes stay on the two of them like the entire universe outside of them is this melted cloud of abstract nonsense, not worth a moment of his time.

Blaine reaches out first. His long, pale fingers take the offered flower, and he's glowing like it's a fucking Tony Award.

Kurt stares at the flower and up at He, and he jumps forward suddenly and hugs the guy so hard that if He wasn't the solid Adonis He was they'd probably both be on the ground.

He only smiles a little wider, circling an arm around Kurt and exchanging looks with Blaine, and.

And Colin's a cynical gossipy ass, maybe, but he knows instantly that he would do  _anything_  if someone looked at him with that kind of fondness.

Kurt steps back after a moment, flushed red, and the flower is clenched tight in his hand. Kurt murmurs something, dropping his eyes, but He only chuckles. He reaches out a broad, square hand, fingertips sliding under Kurt's chin and tilting his head back up.

Eye contact. Jesus, Colin can feel it from where he is, yards away and surrounded by yammering idiots. Kurt looks at 'He' and He looks back with that same doting fondness in his eyes, and Christ on a fucking  _cracker_ , the guy's hot.

No...not even just the guy. The guy's fucking hot, yeah, but it's the way he looks at Kurt. The way Kurt's delicate features make his hand look massive, strong and solid. The way his gaze shifts back to Blaine, and his smile grows to include him, and Blaine watches him like he's watching a fucking sunrise.

And there's no doubt in Colin's mind anymore.

The reason no one could ever make any sense out of Kurt and Blaine's relationship is because they were all missing this giant (sexy) piece of the puzzle.

While He's standing here with them, Kurt and Blaine drift towards each other in a way that broadcasts that of course they're fucking, of course they've tasted every little part of each other. When they exchange glances there's an unmistakable heat between them that Colin can't believe has never been there before.

They're fucking, they're together, they're in love like something from a sixteen year old girl's diary.

But only when He is with them.

Or...Colin can't miss how they watch this guy like subjects waiting on a blessing from their king, and how He smiles so affectionately and possessively. Maybe Kurt and Blaine are only  _allowed_ to show their feelings for each other when all three of them are together. Maybe they're forbidden from indulging in each other when He isn't there. A little kinky, but not unheard of. And Colin enjoys a little kink, so once he starts thinking that way he isn't in a hurry to stop.

There's a sudden jostle around him as a little crowd of gabbers breaks off and heads for the door – the herd beginning the trek to that night's watering hole – and for a few seconds he loses sight of Kurt and Blaine and  _He._

When he sees them again they're in motion. Kurt's got He's hand in his and is tugging him away from the door towards the dressing rooms and backstage. Blaine is locked at He's side, grinning at Kurt like he does every day.

They pass Colin just a foot or so away. Colin holds his breath when they pass, suddenly wondering what He would do if He saw how hard Colin was watching them. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd want to piss off.

When Colin glances back to watch them go, he sees that Blaine rather unmistakably has a finger hooked in a belt loop of He's jeans, and He's hand is resting, firm and broad, at the small of Blaine's back.

The three of them vanish back towards the dressing room, Kurt's mouth moving a mile a minute as he gestures around and tries to show off the place. But even though He follows willingly enough, He only has eyes for the two men moving with him.

And. Yeah. Holy shit. Colin's not confused anymore. Not in the slightest.

Which doesn't mean he won't be asking Kurt about all this again. It just means that what he'll be asking for are details, not answers.

* * *

It wasn't as if there was anything particularly secret about their relationship. Kurt knew that people gossiped and whispered and questioned, they had since he and Blaine started at the company. Theatre was a small universe, everyone knew everything about everyone, and if they didn't then they felt entitled to.

Kurt knew there'd been interested eyes on him before. He was also very familiar with the nervous, uncertain look on a guy's face when he approached Kurt to ask if Blaine was available.

Kurt didn't lie to anyone. When someone went through with it, asked Kurt if Blaine was available, Kurt just told them to ask Blaine. And when someone asked Kurt if he was seeing anyone, Kurt would tell them as nicely as he could that he wasn't looking.

He didn't lie, but he didn't offer up the truth. Neither did Blaine.

They weren't hiding anything. That would never even have occurred to them. Their close friends all knew exactly what was going on. They had met each other's families (except Blaine's, but that's because his dad was a heaping bag of Republican shit, not because they were ashamed).

They didn't even try to pretend that more than one of the three bedrooms in their house was occupied. Dave set up his office set up in one of the extra rooms, and the other was wide open and empty except for mats and mirrors Dave hung on the wall for them, so they could watch themselves rehearsing choreography.

Or...doing other things.

They weren't hiding, and there wasn't a single thing about their relationship that Kurt was embarrassed by.

The reason he and Blaine never gave out details was that it was absolutely impossible to explain it to someone who didn't know all of them. The people in the company didn't know Dave, so it wouldn't have made any sense to them at all.

How did he make someone who was just meeting him even  _begin_  to understand?

How did he explain their history, every phase of Kurt's relationship with Dave, and with Blaine, and with them both together?

People got the wrong idea. Kurt used to try to explain it. When he did shows at other theatres, before landing the (barely) paying steady company role, he used to make an effort.

Yes, he would say, Blaine and I are together.

Why didn't they ever kiss, or hold hands, or anything like that? Because Dave wasn't there. Who's Dave?

That's where it stopped.

Who's Dave?

Kurt tried calling Dave their 'partner' once, and it felt all wrong. He even tried calling Dave their 'daddy' after he heard the term used in some ridiculous S&M clip he and Blaine giggled over online. But that wasn't right either.

He couldn't label Dave something easy. There was no description that painted their history. No term for the path that they took to get where they were.

There was time, and tears, and threats. There were fists and blood and shouts and more tears.

There was Dave in his Bullywhip beret, and Blaine turning his nose up at him the first time he tried to walk them both to class senior year.

There was the day that Dave came out of the rear door of the gym late one afternoon and found Blaine cornered by half the football team, lip split and nose already bloody. That was the day that Dave took on five guys at once and came out on top, sending three of them to the hospital but never getting in trouble for it because whatever he did to them scared them into silence.

There was the way Blaine watched Dave after that, like his unflattering letterman jacket was covering spandex tights and a cape.

There was the part of the story when Blaine and Kurt, so happily in love and eager to help their poor lonely friend who wasn't so lucky, set Dave up on a date with a boy from Dalton who used to flirt with Blaine enough to earn Kurt's hatred. The way Dave started smiling and relaxing while he and Bastard Boy dated. Dave started to let go of his fear and accept what he was, and it was like a whole new person forming as Kurt watched.

And Kurt couldn't stop thinking about the new Dave.

There's the part where Bastard, who apparently was Absolute Idiot too, called Dave and broke things off with the blase confession that he was screwing around with some twenty-five year old loser who worked at a gas station. The part where shiny new smiling Dave got his heart broken.

All those things couldn't be told in any brief way, not enough that someone who didn't know them could even start to understand it.

But those were just the tip of the iceberg.

Because when Dave was so hurt by Bastard, somehow Blaine and Kurt separately and simultaneously realized that they couldn't encourage him to try again. They couldn't talk to him about the next boy he'd meet, the one smart enough to appreciate him, the one he'd really love. They couldn't, because neither of them wanted to see it happen.

Back then Dave had become utterly fascinating to Kurt – this strong and blunt and bashful boy who was gay in a way Kurt foolishly didn't realize someone  _could_  be gay. He was just himself, a coarse jock with a temper, who happened to like guys.

Kurt had always been attracted to jocks, but was so scared of all the things he didn't know that he purposely went after unattainable versions of the type. He never thought Finn was anything but straight. If he thought Sam Evans could maybe like him a little, he got over it fast. Didn't stop him from thinking he was in love with either of them, if only for a little while.

They were safe, like boyband singers or teen dream actors were safe to a million girls too young to understand the love poems they wrote in tribute.

He watched Dave coming out, this straight-acting jock who was also gay. He watched the repercussions, the way that no one knew how to treat Dave anymore. The way it was different for Dave than it was for Kurt, because the people who liked Kurt liked him just as much once he came out. Same with the people who hated him. But for Dave it was the opposite. For Dave his friends didn't like this thing he suddenly was, and the people who don't care about sexuality didn't like Dave enough to welcome him in.

Kurt watched Dave deal with his sudden and almost total alienation with resignation, like he'd predicted the whole thing. Coming out wasn't the big answer for Dave that it had been for Kurt. It didn't make Dave happier.

Kurt wanted Dave to be happy. He wanted to see those glimpses of the new Dave he had been with Bastard Boy. He wanted to see him smile. He wanted to  _make_ him smile.

And Blaine? Blaine just openly adored him.

Kurt couldn't tell anyone when they made the change from a pair of boyfriends and their third wheel into something more. He couldn't explain because they simply  _did:_  he and Blaine were a couple until the moment they realized that it felt better when they were a trio. The moment they went out to dinner on a Friday night like any other couple and realized that they were bored without Dave there with them.

Kurt and Blaine on their own would have fizzled eventually into dullness and apathy. Sitting across from Blaine was too much like staring into a mirror. He never stopped loving Blaine. He never loved him any less. He just realized that he and Blaine together were incomplete, and the moment he understood who completed them, he wasn't satisfied being incomplete anymore.

Luckily, Blaine awkwardly started bringing up Dave more and more even as Kurt was working that out in his head, and over the course of a few stilted, blushing conversations they tiptoed around the issue until they realized they were talking about the exact same thing.

No one who met Dave now would have recognized him in Kurt's memories of the day they finally confronted their growing feelings.

He and Blaine approached Dave one day when Dave was too depressed for them to tolerate any longer. Kurt spoke gently to him and kissed him until Dave pulled away and looked right at Blaine, and didn't understand why Blaine wasn't pissed about the kiss. Until Blaine kissed him too.

It was an option, they explained to Dave. For him, because he wasn't happy as lonely as he was, and they weren't happy without him. And no one who knew Dave would have believed he was ever so overcome, so awed and scared and timid as he was that day.

Most people didn't believe in real love existing between more than two people. It didn't fit the romantic notion that there was someone in the world for everyone, one true love who would rise above the rest. They assumed that Kurt loved Blaine but thought Dave was hot enough to sleep with. Or that Dave loved Kurt since the beginning and tolerated Blaine because Kurt didn't give him any option.

It didn't make sense to people that they came together so naturally. That three teenage boys who shouldn't have understood anything about real life found that huge, complicated thing and somehow made it work.

Dave started coming with them to dinner on date nights, that was the first big change. When Kurt wanted a kiss he could get it from Blaine, or he could turn to Dave. When Blaine wanted to talk about the Denver Broncos he suddenly had an eager partner. When Kurt wanted to be wrapped up and held and enfolded until he felt positively safe, suddenly there were strong arms he could step into.

When Kurt made Dave smile, it felt like nothing but singing on a stage in a closed Broadway theatre had ever made him feel before. When Blaine had the slightest moment of uncertainty or worry or fear he immediately looked around for Dave, and felt relief the moment he saw him.

Winning Dave's smiles and nods and approval became addictive. Normal people might have assumed that the more they were together the less vital it would be to make Dave laugh, but in Kurt's experience the opposite was true.

They grew into their roles before they realized there were roles there. Kurt and Blaine simply couldn't stop looking to Dave, trusting him to watch out for them, hoping for his approval, his smiles, his happiness. Dave grew more and more protective of them, more watchful. He seemed to realize that for Kurt and Blaine just his smile was a reward, and that realization seemed to do more to turn him into the confident man he became that anything else. He fed off of their adoration until there wasn't a trace of that tense, scared and insecure teenage bully left in him.

Dave loved them, he explained to Kurt once, one of a million murmured conversations in the heated exhaustion of their bed. He loved them, they were the most amazing creatures in the world in his eyes, and for them to look at him like he was their strength? He must be pretty fucking awesome himself.

Kurt loved what they had. He didn't love the misery of Dave's time in the closet, or that Blaine had to be threatened and punched by bastards in order for him to see Dave in a new way. He didn't love Blaine's dad refusing to let him come home when he found out about his son's non-standard relationship.

He didn't love some of the rocks that got in their path. But if they had to go through it to get where they were, he would have done it all again gladly. He loved what they were, what they had. He loved Dave's office and he and Blaine's tiny homemade dance studio. He loved the baffled looks the actors in the company gave he and Blaine when they couldn't figure out what their deal was.

He loved that Dave grew into a man so full of his own confidence and strength that without saying a word he could step into a room and stop conversations dead in their tracks. He loved that Dave became the man Kurt and Blaine saw under the scared boy. He loved that he and Blaine belonged to Dave, in such a deep and complex way that he couldn't find the words to even begin to describe it to another person.

He loved Dave. He loved Blaine. He adored Dave when watched Blaine with that steel in his eyes that dared the universe to try to hurt his boy again. He adored Blaine when he was wide open and vulnerable and trusting in Dave to take on whatever was burdening him. Kurt saw Blaine with Dave and there was suddenly nothing dull or predictable about him. Blaine claimed that Kurt was never as beautiful as when he watched Dave. Dave said that when the two of them kisses he knew there wasn't a more perfect sight in the universe.

It was too intrinsic to explain in words. They loved each other  _with_  each other. Blaine was perfect for Kurt when Dave was there, and however you moved around their names to rephrase that sentence it always fit. It was always true. Their relationships were different - Kurt and Blaine related to each other in very different ways than either related to Dave. But they were Dave's boys.

It wasn't about dominance, not in some fetishistic porn sense. They didn't belong to Dave because he fit them into collars and made them call him 'sir'. They belonged to him because no matter how much they loved each other, neither of them were happy until Dave was there to lay his claim. Because they would have given anything to make him happy.

The closing performance of a beautiful musical was exciting, but it paled next to the moment they found out that Dave didn't get held up with work like he feared, that he was sitting there watching, that he had come backstage with two tiny roses that made the wild bouquets around them seem utterly absurd.

Kurt and Blaine loved theatre and were rightfully proud of how far they had come in it. They were performers, singers and actors. It was where they belonged and what they were meant for...until the moment that Dave was there, smiling and telling them how proud he was of them.

In that moment, theatre was just the means, and Dave was the end. The three of them together, what they were and what they had...that was the end.

* * *

The mind-blowing sex didn't hurt, of course.

Kurt was never going to look for the words to explain  _that_ part to anyone. Outside of the bedroom he was still the same prissy guy that he was in high school. He wasn't about to share details of his sex life with anyone.

He wasn't gifted enough with words to paint the picture anyway. If Colin, when he cornered Kurt backstage at the end of the show, had asked him to describe his nights with his two lovers, Kurt would have been at a loss.

Even the previous night, clear and strong in his memory, would never have made the transition into words and speech.

Kurt and Blaine got home late, of course, since it was a performance night. They skipped the partying afterwards, since there was no shortage of opportunities to get drunk with that group of people.

They came in quietly - their schedules conflicted horribly with Dave's, and even on a Friday night Dave might have been asleep by then. He worked a nine-to-five, a complicated job that was technically called 'sales' but logistically involved Dave being a genius about pieces of lab equipment and bits of technology that he peddled to universities and development companies worldwide.

(Kurt chuckled at him for earning a degree in Theoretical Physics but then turning into a salesman...he teased him up until Dave brought home the first of many five-figure commission checks. Dave's job, weird as it seemed to Kurt, allowed his boys to work silly part time jobs so that they had loads of time to give the theatre, and yet still live (and dress) in the designer manner to which Kurt's generous father allowed him to become accustomed.)

Dave worked hard, but though his boring workday schedule conflicted with Kurt and Blaine's in intolerable ways, they didn't complain much. They knew he did it for them, that Dave never had fancy tastes – except in lovers – and he didn't need elegant décor filling his house, or designer labels on his clothes.

Kurt took foolish amounts of pride in the names on his clothes, and Blaine was absolutely in heaven decorating and redecorating the home they lived in, and Dave spoiled his boys ridiculously. But he knew they were high-maintenance when he so happily claimed them for his own.

So when Kurt and Blaine got home late that night, they were as quiet as possible until Kurt saw the light coming from under the closed door of Dave's office.

And then things changed.

Dave worked too hard. On paper he was a salesman, but the things he sold were incredibly detailed, specific pieces of equipment that he had to know and understand forwards and backwards. He sold to scientists, doctors, professors. He needed his degree to do his job, and it involved hours and hours of research and study whenever something new came out.

He worked too hard already, and after a performance on a Friday night him still being awake wasn't a good sign.

Kurt took Blaine's arm and nodded at the door, the stream of light underneath.

Blaine's cheerful post-show smile faded instantly: Dave worked hard for his boys, but his boys were not the type to accept being spoiled passively. They let him work as hard as he could until it became too hard. Then they acted.

Kurt met Blaine's eyes and Blaine nodded, and they were on the same wavelength instantly.

They headed down the hallway of their silent, elegant home. Blaine smiled faintly at Kurt before breaking away and stepping into their bedroom, and Kurt went on to the office door alone.

He knocked lightly, but pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.

Dave, lit by the blue glow of his computer monitor, surrounded by manuals and thick textbooks, looked up in surprise.

"Hi," Kurt said with a small smile; he was worried, but smiling was inevitable when Dave's attention was on him.

"Is it..." Dave looked back at his monitor, squinting in at the top corner where the time was stamped. "Oh, Christ. It's after midnight."

"It is," Kurt answered delicately, moving across the dark carpet and around Dave's heavy wooden desk. (This was Blaine's favorite room to decorate after their bedroom, he told Kurt. He didn't get to be so unabashedly masculine in any other room.)

Dave sat back and rubbed his face with his hands. "Shit, I'm gonna sleep until noon tomorrow. How was the show?"

"Good," Kurt answered as he moved around behind Dave. His hands went to Dave's shoulders like magnets drawn to metal, and he instantly started probing for knots in his muscles. "Standing ovation, both acts."

"Mmm." Dave slumped back, sighing and tilting his head to give Kurt's hands more room. "Hate to say it, but this damned bio-contamination analyzer...I'm not anywhere near done with it yet. I don't know if...fuck, Kurt, your fucking  _hands_..."

Kurt glowed in pleasure, shivered at the gruffness of Dave's voice, and dug his fingers in to those amazing broad shoulders. "You've seen lots of our shows, it's okay if you miss this one." He didn't even try to hide his disappointment, though, selfish as it was.

"Sorry," Dave said simply, and Kurt knew the battle was lost.

He stilled his hands on Dave's shoulders. "If you'll be studying all day tomorrow than maybe you can stop tonight."

Dave looked back at him, tired but smiling. "Maybe. Where's Blaine?"

"He's getting ready for bed." Kurt dropped his eyes, consciously dipping his head and speaking more softly. "We're tired."

"Oh yeah?" Dave chuckled, his usual low rumble. "So why didn't you go to bed too?"

Kurt smiled to himself but kept his eyes down. "You know why."

"Mmm. You want to get tucked in?" Dave turned the chair, sitting back and studying Kurt with a suddenly weighted gaze. "You want a bedtime story?"

Kurt shook his head, edging in closer until his legs brushed against Dave's knees. "We're tired of being without you," he said, soft and bashful.

It wasn't an act, really, when Kurt got like that. He played it up a little, at least at the start when he was conscious of the change coming. But it wasn't artificial. His adoration of Dave was completely real, his strange humility when it came to asking Dave for anything after Dave already gave so much was genuine.

And Dave loved it, Dave fed off of it. That only made it all the more easy.

Dave, Kurt sometimes realized, never needed anything more than for someone to have absolute faith in him. That was what he was missing as a teenager. It was the easiest thing in the world for Kurt and Blaine to give him.

Dave sat up, a smile curling at his mouth. "Can't sleep without me there, huh?"

Kurt slid in, nudging timidly at his legs. "Don't want to. We will if you tell us to," he added, looking up at Dave through his eyelashes. "If it's what you  _want_ , but..."

Dave rumbled in another soft chuckle and reached out, his heavy palm fitting around Kurt's hip. "You without me is never what I want, beautiful."

Kurt pinked in pleasure and stroked his fingertips up Dave's outstretched arm. "Come to bed, then?"

It was a question – always a question. Kurt was a demanding little beast at the best of times, but Dave ruled in that house, with them. It wasn't incredibly hard to get Dave to make the decisions Kurt wanted him to make, but his manipulation was open and obvious and Dave enjoyed it as much as Kurt enjoyed getting what he wanted.

Dave hesitated, though Kurt already knew what the answer was. From the moment Kurt stepped through the door Dave hadn't given a single thought to the work behind him, and they both knew it.

"I guess I'd better," Dave answered finally. "Not fair to leave Blaine all alone, is it?"

Kurt grinned – he had read the glance Blaine shot him as clearly as if Blaine had spoken words, and he knew that Blaine was too busy getting ready to be lonely.

Dave tugged Kurt in. "First. Why don't you tell me hello for real, beautiful?"

Kurt's mind was off Blaine instantly. He lifted his eyes and met Dave's twinkling gaze and the silent thread that so inescapably bound him to Dave tugged him harder than Dave could.

He slid in between Dave's legs and shivered happily as Dave's hand slipped from his waist down to his ass, urging him closer. He leaned down, sliding his hands to Dave's shoulders as he bent towards Dave's smiling face.

The kiss was gentle, easy. Deceptive. Dave let their mouths meet, press, nudge together, and then he drew back. His tongue swept over his lower lip, as if tasting any hint Kurt might have left behind. His eyes were already darker, glittering, as he looked up at Kurt.

Kurt watched that glimpse of tongue with an instant and intense rush of hunger. "Bed time," he reminded Dave softly, and his voice shook from the effort of not asking for the thousand other things he wanted more than 'bed'.

Dave smiled lazily, entirely certain of all the things making Kurt's voice waver. He squeezed Kurt's ass as he stood up, trapping Kurt against him until they were pressed chest to chest. Dave wasn't hard but he was getting there, and his stirring cock pressed thick against Kurt's leg through two pairs of jeans.

Kurt's breath caught and his eyes lowered to Dave's collar. He wanted to arch, to rub himself into that wakening hardness until Dave was straining at his jeans and breathing hard in Kurt's ear. If he were feeling more forward he would have, though Dave just would have smirked and drawn back in response.

He wasn't feeling forward, though. He was feeling weighted, humbled. Reminded from the late hour and the exhaustion in Dave's eyes just how much Dave did for his boys while they were away on stage living their dreams.

On nights like that, Kurt's own desires were easily outweighed by a greater one: the desire to give his lover absolutely everything he wanted.

Dave leaned in, but stopped with his mouth an inch from Kurt's, still with that crooked smile on his face.

"Shouldn't leave Blaine waiting."


	2. Two

Kurt stayed pressed to his side, as Dave turned out the office lights and shut the door on his work for the night. He stayed tight against Dave as they moved down the hall, twisting only to flick the hallways light off as Dave reached to open the bedroom door.

He was entirely unsurprised by Dave's breath choking off as the door opened. He watched, rapt, as color stole up Dave's cheeks, as his eyes widened and darkened and his smile melted into something less smug, more...predatory.

Kurt had to take in that reaction before he could even look in and see how Blaine had decided to greet Dave tonight. When he did turn, though, he almost managed to forget about Dave for a moment.

He could have gone any of a hundred ways, but Blaine was remarkably perceptive about his lovers and what they needed, and he obviously understood that simplicity was the best thing that night.

He had turned down the covers on their heavy king-sized bed, and the only light came from the two lamps on the two bedside tables. The pale amber light cast everything except the bed into shadows, and against Blaine's skin it glowed better than any stage lighting.

Blaine was naked, of course. He was on his knees in the center of the mattress, sitting back on his heels, his head tilted downward and his arms held behind his back. It was a simple pose, elegant, and though Kurt knew it was all for Dave he couldn't help his own mouth watering in response.

He was hard, his cock pale and stiff against the thick dark curls at its base, and Kurt knew his dedicated lover - Blaine would have stayed like that without moving, aching in anticipation, for an hour if Kurt took that long to bring Dave back to him.

"Christ, baby..." Dave's voice was thick.

Kurt looked over at Dave, tingling at the heavy lust burning from Dave's face as he looked at Blaine.

And Blaine responded with just the right word, as usual: "David."

Kurt bit back a moan even as Dave groaned beside him and left Kurt's side to move up to the bed.

In their bed Kurt was 'beautiful' or 'sexy' or whatever other compliment Dave thought to growl out to him. Blaine became 'baby' - the only pet name Dave tried for him that stuck.

Dave? In their bed, with his two boys, 'Dave' was too normal. 'Dave' was the guy who snorted at some play a referee called during a football game, or trailed behind Kurt and Blaine loaded down with bags and griping about Hour Five in the mall.

He wasn't their Daddy. He wasn't their Master, or their Baby or Lover or anything. Nothing they tried felt right until one forward night when Kurt was impatient from being teased and snapped ' _David_ ' like an admonishment.

And holy fuck, nobody was admonished by it. Dave's eyes had snapped up, his entire bearing had shifted, and he proceeded to fuck Blaine over Kurt's lap, forbidding Kurt to touch or even look, until Kurt was whimpering his apologies for snapping out of turn, and begging for forgiveness, for relief.

He was David from that moment, at least while he was taking care of his boys in their bed.

He was David right then, stalking up to the bed, eyes moving over Blaine's still and submissive body hungrily.

Kurt clung to the wall, watching with rapt eyes, as Dave leaned a knee on the bed and reached out, threading his fingers through Blaine's dark curls and tugging his head back.

Blaine's gaze stayed lowered until Dave growled, and then his eyes slipped up, glowing and hazel. Kurt had to fist his hands to stop himself from moving in without permission - Blaine was never so fucking beautiful as when he was looking at Dave that way.

Dave was profile to Kurt, but Kurt could still see the rush of heat, of want, that filled Dave's expression. But his voice was low, dangerous, when he spoke.

"Did you touch yourself without asking first?"

Blaine's head dipped, but Dave gripped his hair and forced his eyes up again. "Yes," he admitted, a guilty rush of air.

"You got impatient?" Dave asked in return, his voice stern. "I didn't get here fast enough for you?"

Tricky question, and Kurt didn't envy Blaine. Except that he entirely fucking did.

Blaine's eyelids fluttered as he fought the instinct to look away, to show his embarrassment. "I missed you," he answered, his voice tight. And God, Kurt loved Blaine strong and center-stage and wowing the world, but he loved him so much more with this choke of anxious humility in his voice.

Dave studied him, and the glow of pleasure in his eyes was impossible to miss. But he pushed Blaine back lightly, releasing his hair and stepping back. "Kurt."

Kurt was at Dave's side before he could register his own name.

Dave's...David's eyes flickered to him. "What about you, beautiful?" he asked, his voice a rumble. "You haven't been touching yourself without me, have you? You've been a good boy?"

"Very good," Kurt answered quickly, feeling Blaine's eyes on him and maybe playing up the wide eyes and breathy answer. "I've been good for you, David."

David's eyes flashed and Blaine let out a faint, unsteady sigh of air from the bed.

"For me." Dave turned away from Blaine, gesturing Kurt closer. "My good boy. You deserve a treat, don't you?"

Kurt didn't make the mistake of nodded and agreeing. He moved in to Dave and looked at him with doting eyes, silent.

Dave reached for him, stroking his hands through Kurt's hair more gently than he had with Blaine. "What would you like, gorgeous?" He paused, and of course Kurt didn't actually answer, just leaned in to his touch like a spoiled cat.

His eyes darted to Blaine, only for a moment, but Dave didn't miss it. Dave didn't miss anything.

Dave's voice was low, thoughtful. "He's a greedy boy, but he looks good, doesn't he?"

Kurt's eyes went over to Blaine, and the moment he met Blaine's intent eyes he let out a shaky breath and nodded. "He's beautiful," he answered honestly.

Blaine's face flushed, his eyes warming that much more.

Dave looked over thoughtfully. "He'd be even more beautiful with your cock in his mouth."

Kurt and Blaine groaned at the same time, and Kurt's cock all but jumped in his jeans, ready to make it happen just like that.

Dave chuckled softly, but his fingers tightened in Kurt's hair and his next words were unmistakably a command. "Clothes. Off."

Kurt had his shirt over his head a moment later, and his tailored Burberry button-down was tossed in a corner, instantly forgotten about in a way none of his friends would have ever believed he was capable of.

Dave stepped back, hands folding cross his chest, watching silently.

Kurt fumbled to get his thin undershirt freed from the waist of his stylishly faded jeans. He snuck a glance at Blaine, and having both his and Dave's eyes on him sent a rush of heat through his body that made his hands even less steady.

Dave smirked as Kurt fought to get his fly undone. He nodded towards Blaine with a jerk of his head. "Well? Get those clothes off him."

Blaine unfroze from his pose for the first time, scrambling to the edge of the bed and swatting Kurt's hands out of the way. He tugged at the front of Kurt's jeans, yanking his t-shirt free and pulling it over his head. Kurt lifted his arms to help, and when his head cleared the shirt he and Blaine's eyes met and electricity seemed to shoot through the air between them.

That was what Dave loved, what he claimed as the most beautiful sight in the universe: Blaine and Kurt locked eyes, and Blaine reached in again to open his jeans, to pull his zipper down carefully over the now rock-solid tent of Kurt's aching cock.

Kurt lived for Dave's smiles, his approval, his love. He loved Blaine as shamelessly as he did back in high school. The feelings fed off each other, existed thanks to the other. People didn't understand: no one seemed to truly understand, even the ones who knew and accepted. Kurt didn't understand how anyone could miss it. How anyone could be so blind as to not see how  _perfect_ Blaine was, and how Dave was  _everything_ , and how closely tied together those two things were?

If they didn't understand that much, they would never understand how it felt to be Kurt, to know how utterly impossible those two men together were, and to know for a simple fact that they wouldn't be what they were if Kurt wasn't there with them. To be a part of something so huge, so overwhelming...

Well. People didn't get it, but  _they_  did. That was all that mattered.

By the time Kurt stepped out of his jeans Dave was back beside them, silent and watchful but unable to stop himself from reaching out to his boys.

His broad hand slid to Kurt's back, splaying warm at the base of his spine. He reached for Blaine, sliding his other hand up Blaine's chest, palm dragging over a dark nipple and causing Blaine to shudder.

Dave's eyes went to Kurt. "You want that pretty mouth wrapped around your cock, beautiful?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded, unable to speak.

Dave looked over at Blaine. "It's not much of a punishment, is it, baby? Getting to take that perfect little cock down your throat."

Blaine whimpered but shook his head obediently. It wasn't a punishment, not for any of them.

"But I promised him a treat," Dave said with a sigh. "And he wants you."

Kurt spoke softly, hushed and excited. "And you, David."

"Oh?" Dave's elegant eyebrow crooked upwards, his mouth quirking up in lazy interest. "How do you want  _me_ , angel?"

Kurt swallowed, his tongue wetting his lips unconsciously. "Will you fuck him while he blows me?"

Blaine sank back on his heels, whimpering, his eyes darting to Dave and staying there, barely breathing in the pause. His hands clenched at his sides, clenched and released, clenched and released.

Dave's eyes swirled darkly, but his expression didn't change from its mild amusement. "Well, shit, that's  _really_  not much of a punishment, is it?"

Kurt tilted his face up, eyes wide and clear and open. "Please, David..."

He was not subtle in his little attempts to get his way, but Kurt loved that most about what they have. In some s&m porno he would call Dave Master and would never dare to make a suggestion like that, but they weren't a porno and what they had wasn't some role pulled from a kink manual.

They were still them, they were always them. From Blaine's little disobediences – done in a total earnest desire to present himself as well as he could to Dave – to Kurt's sly and obvious manipulations. What they had was them, not a role, not an act.

Dave looked down at him and sighed in resignation. "For you, beautiful."

Blaine twitched on the bed and moaned softly, a reaction he couldn't contain.

Dave glanced over, and if Blaine and Kurt were allowed to be themselves than Dave wasn't held to some overbearing Master standard. Dave controlled how things went, sure, but he wasn't scared to give in to them. He would never play some role that didn't allow him to demonstrate his affection in the name of control.

He wasn't scared to reach out and stroke fingers through Blaine's hair gently, to show his love as he looked down at him. To treat that love as more important than their roles or Blaine's being 'bad'.

Which didn't stop him, of course, from murmuring to Blaine through his caring smile, "If you come before I say so, you'll never taste his cock again."

Blaine's eyes grew huge and his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't an empty threat. 'Never again' was a stretch, but Dave could drag a punishment like that on for weeks. Months. It would seem like forever.

Kurt could watch them for hours that way. Being witness to the moments that happened between Blaine and Dave never failed to captivate him, to keep him hard as a rock but without any regard for it. He could forget himself happily watching the two of them.

Not to say joining in wasn't even better, and luckily Dave wasn't about to forget about him.

After a long, lingering kiss that left Blaine glassy-eyed and breathing hard, Dave straightened. He turned on Kurt, dragging him in close. His hand felt huge splayed warm and insistent over the small of Kurt's back, and Kurt's only complaint was that unlike he and Blaine, Dave was still fully clothed in jeans and his favorite weekend Red Wings jersey. Hot, yeah, but not as hot as bare skin and warm muscle would have been as Kurt pressed in to him.

Dave's mouth found his, firm and forceful. Kurt all but melted into it, sagging against his chest, lips parted in instant invitation.

Dave kissed like he did anything – confident, strong, not waiting for consent but sure of his welcome. And Kurt, the way he always did, got exactly what he wanted by instantly giving in and letting Dave have complete control.

He was a master with his mouth. He knew just how to angle himself, when to probe inside, how to curl his tongue in Kurt's mouth so that the slick slide of their tongues together was as erotic as any touch of hand could ever be. He left Kurt breathless, aching, invaded thoroughly but not enough, never enough. Always left him wanting and craving and empty for more.

This time when he broke away and Kurt whimpered and leaned in and tried to capture his mouth again, he just chuckled against Kurt's lips and murmured in a thick rumble, "Go on, beautiful. Go get your treat."

Blaine reached out as Kurt stumbled to the bed. He guided Kurt onto the mattress, taking over Kurt's attention finally and thoroughly when his warm fingers stroked a greeting trail up Kurt's side and back down over his hip.

Kurt's focus locked on him, his mind playing back the image Blaine had greeted them with when they first walked into the bedroom.

Blaine was beautiful, everything about him. He was the smallest of the three of them height-wise, but he was stockier than Kurt: he could actually put on the muscle that Kurt couldn't talk into developing on his own slender body. The slightest touch of sun could leave him tan and glowing for weeks, a result of maternal genetics. His skin was impossibly perfect: the pink of inevitable blushes made him glow, the glitter of sweat on his skin made him seem otherworldly. Kurt was sometimes a little too aware of himself, his paleness and thinness and the way his own blushes seemed to blotch on his skin. Having Blaine to compare himself to didn't help things.

But it didn't hurt either, because Blaine in all his effortless perfection was Kurt's to take whenever he wanted. Besides, though he was obviously aware of how attractive he was (he and Kurt are actors, and actors have to have a pretty firm understanding of exactly how they come across and who they are in the eyes of their audiences), he never showed the slightest awareness of it in bed. He blushed at compliments, he was sometimes self-conscious, and he never failed to look at Kurt's thin, pale body as if Kurt was the perfect one of the two of them.

That's how he looked at Kurt then, as Kurt crawled onto the mattress to join him. He looked at Kurt with those amazing dark-lashed hazel eyes as if Kurt was the more perfect thing he'd ever seen, and it was hard to maintain any kind of self-esteem issues when someone like Blaine looked at him that way.

Blaine was the most innocent of the two of them. The most sincere and openly adoring, the most earnest and unabashedly anxious to please his lovers. Kurt could be selfish at times, and could lose himself to his own pleasure without even realizing it. Blaine had this remarkable ability to ignore his own body through any kind of stimulation, never satisfied to give in until his lovers were sated (or Dave ordered him to).

Kurt got in trouble for wanting too much, insisting on more than he should. Blaine got in trouble for doing too much to try to please his lovers, the way he did that night.

Of course, 'trouble' with David was a misleading term. They got in 'trouble' fairly often but somehow they never seemed to learn their lessons. Kurt was fairly confident that none of them had a single complaint to give about any of it.

Kurt laid down on his back high up on the mattress, already feeling overheated as Blaine crawled up the bed after him, his eyes glittering in the lamplight.

Dave stepped back away from the bed until he was almost in the shadows outside the reach of that light. Kurt could see his broad silhouette, and the light caught his eyes and made them glow from the darkness. He looked out at that dark form as Blaine settled in against him, until the moment before Blaine's mouth met his.

Then Blaine had his focus. Kurt reached for him, loving the thick curls of Blaine's hair under his fingers and the firm curve of Blaine's back against his other hand.

Blaine didn't linger long – he had a job to do there, he had a command to follow, and Blaine never lost sight of that. Too soon his lush lips were trailing down Kurt's jaw and throat, peppering a warm trail down his chest.

Kurt sighed in warm contentment at the easy kisses, keeping his fingers wound loosely in Blaine's hair as he made his way down Kurt's body. He noticed how Blaine was settling himself – on his knees between Kurt's shamelessly spread legs, with his spine arched up and his ass in the air.

Dave was hidden in shadows, but no doubt he was enjoying the view.

Blaine didn't waste a lot of time getting to his task. He lingered for a few extra moments at Kurt's hipbone – he claimed the dip of his skin just over that ridge of bone was the sexiest part of Kurt's body – and spent a few teasing moments nuzzling through the wiry curls at the bast of Kurt's cock. But before Kurt could open his mouth to beg Blaine looked up the line of Kurt's body and met his eyes with a small, wicked smile, and sank down.

Kurt let out a soft moan as the heat of Blaine's mouth covered the head of his cock. He dropped back against the pillow, lips parting as his breathing got heavier, harder.

Blaine didn't waste time with a lot of tricks - this was the opening act, they both knew it. He worked his tongue in long strokes as he took Kurt in, slick and warm and  _heaven_ that Kurt just never ever got tired of. He ran his hands up and down Kurt's thighs, trailing up his hips and feathering over that dip over his hipbone.

The touches were slow, gentle, almost teasing, and in contrast his lips stayed tightly pursed, a constant firm pressure as he slid down and came up the slender line of Kurt's cock. His eyes were shut as he drew Kurt in, his expression was peaceful, and little muffled murmurs emerged from his mouth now and then.

It was a fight between keeping his eyes close or watching devoutly everything Blaine did. God knew Kurt had long ago memorized the sight of Blaine's lips stretched around his cock, but it wasn't a thing he ever got used to seeing.

One thing Blaine had taught Kurt about sex was that the dirtiness of it existed in opposite proportion to his partner's enjoyment of it. Sixteen-year-old Kurt regarded oral sex as something that must have felt good for the person receiving it but couldn't possibly have been good for the person giving. Someone's  _penis_ (as he would have thought when he was sixteen) in his  _mouth._ Just...ugh.

He got over that idea. Fast. The first time Blaine gave him head, like it was the single most amazing thing he had ever experienced, Kurt suddenly couldn't wait to try it himself. And since then they had done things together that sixteen-year-old Kurt would have shrieked at even the idea of. Kurt had buried his tongue so far up Blaine's ass that his mouth was sore for days after, and he did it gladly, rapturously. He had grabbed Blaine after Dave had come in his mouth and kissed him fast and deep until Dave's come was swirling between their mouths, messy and fucking  _delicious._

There was nothing he wouldn't try. No part of his body, or Blaine's, or Dave's, that was any less sexy than the others. (Kurt sometimes listened to Mercedes bitch over Skype about how her husband kept begging her to swallow, and he had to stop himself from expressing his utter bewilderment that she would ever  _not.)_

Blaine's hand suddenly curled around the base of Kurt's cock, dragging him from his thoughts and very much into the present. His lazy eyes opened and he looked down the blotching, flushed line of his chest at Blaine.

Blaine looked up at him, lips stretched tight, eyes glassy and dilated with pleasure as he squeezed his fingers tight around Kurt and focused his mouth and tongue on just his head.

"Fuck," Kurt whispered, his fingers tightening in Blaine's hair unconsciously. "Fuck, God, Blaine. So good at this."

Blaine's mouth quirked upwards but he focused on his task again with just the slightest teasing hum of acknowledgment.

Kurt swallowed to coat a dry throat and dropped his head back against the pillow, arching up and sagging back in time with the slow, maddening swirls of Blaine's tongue across the line of his head, the underside of his cock and against the tip and down again, mapping veins and exploring ridges like he was learning some complicated new instrument.

Something was missing. Kurt sagged back and panted for air, arched into that heated, amazing mouth, and as amazing as it was he knew he wouldn't come from it. Something was missing.

He brought his free hand up to his chest, searching for more. He had an embarrassingly sensitive chest, and the sweat starting to prickle over his skin made the air seem cool and his nipples turn into hard peaks.

"No hands," came a sudden growl.

Kurt's eyes opened instantly.

From the darkness the broad silhouette watching them didn't even stir. "No hands."

Kurt whined, but his hand slipped from his chest and Blaine's hair. He reached up and curled his hands back over his head, looped behind him on the pillow as if they were bound at the wrists.

Dave commanded it – they were as good as bound.

And since Dave hadn't specified either of them, Blaine's hand loosed from Kurt's aching erection and the other slipped from his thigh, and Kurt watched him lace his hands behind his back. He was a dancer, he had remarkable balance, but watching him bracing on his knees as he dipped down to take in Kurt's cock was still amazing.

From the darkness came the slightest moan of agreement, and Dave moved in suddenly. When the light made his features clear again Kurt shivered at the look on Dave's face – the heat in his eyes, the flush and the way his entire body was braced, clenched, like he had to fight every instinct he had not to simply climb onto that bed and  _demolish_ them both.

Dave's eyes were locked on Blaine's mouth around Kurt, but as he moved around the bed on stalking feet his gaze slid up to Kurt.

Kurt whimpered, wanting so much even as his body pulsed with steady, hot and wet pleasure. "Dave..."

Dave reached for the hem of his Redwings jersey.

Kurt felt the shift as Blaine angled himself, unsteady without his hands but just able to shift and title his head so that without releasing Kurt's cock from his mouth he could watch Dave.

Dave pulled the jersey over his head without much fanfare – they performed for Dave, not the other way around – but paused to smirk down at Kurt when the sight of the thin wife-beater under the jersey made Kurt groan.

Kurt flushed, sheepish but unapologetic. He made no secret that he resented any possible barrier between Dave's body and his eyes. It wasn't a new thing.

He balled up the jersey and dropped it on the floor as he stepped up to the bed. Still annoyingly covered, but at least when he reached for Kurt the thick muscles of his arm were bared for Kurt's greedy eyes.

Dave reached in and brushed his fingertips down Kurt's flushed cheek. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured.

Kurt whined, arching into Blaine's distracted mouth as he tilted his face to catch Dave's index finger between his lips. Acting without permission, maybe, but  _fuck._ He wanted, he was missing out, he was still, despite Blaine's perfect hot mouth around his cock, still empty and waiting and wanting.

Dave's eyes darkened, his lips parted as his breathing got harder. He didn't pull back, instead he dipped his finger into Kurt's mouth.

Kurt moaned around that thick finger, working his tongue against it, eager and craving something even bigger.

Dave let him, at least for a few moments, and seemed to be frozen there as he watched Kurt work his lips and tongue rapturously. But he recovered quickly as he always did, and with the faintest of smirks he drew his hand back until it rested for just a moment against Kurt's swollen lips.

His eyes shifted to Blaine, who had stilled with just the head of Kurt's aching cock in his mouth. The moment Dave's gaze landed on him he moaned, making Kurt shudder at the vibration around his aching cock.

"Fuck, baby," Dave murmured as he moved down the bed a few steps, until his hand could thread through Blaine's thick hair again. "You're not a bad boy at all, are you?"

Blaine whined, high and muffled, sinking lower on Kurt's cock. His eyes were wide, fevered with want, as he tilted his head back to look up at Dave. Always a showman, and Kurt loved him for it.

Dave's eyes swirled, dark and heavy. "You just wanted to put on a show for me, didn't you? Showing off on stage for half the city isn't enough for you, hmm?"

Blaine made another muffled sound, like protest though he wouldn't dare to disagree.

Dave regarded him with glittering eyes. "Is that what it is, baby? You can't get enough of people watching you, huh? Always trying to make everyone look at you."

Blaine's head actually shook, tiny fractions of a shake as he slowly dragged his lips back up Kurt's cock until only the head was between his lips.

"No?" Dave sounded amused. "You don't want the whole world watching you?"

Blaine looked up at Dave with round eyes, deceptively innocent even as he drove his tongue into the slit of Kurt's cock, making Kurt arch and push up into that mouth.

He was sweating, his head was spinning, his cock pulsed with ever beat of his heart, but Kurt couldn't look away from his two lovers. Not for an instant.

Dave smiled suddenly, slow and crooked. "Just me, huh? Is that it?"

Blaine nodded, frantic, pulling off of Kurt only enough to slurp at his pre-come, loud and obscene, before sliding back down around him.

"Just want to put on a show for me, right, baby? You just want my eyes on you, don't you?"

Blaine vented another high, eager whine, and Kurt sobbed and fisted his hands tight over his head to keep from just pounding up into that wicked mouth.

Dave reached for his wife-beater, tugging it from his jeans, and Kurt's eyes wet instantly on him. Blaine instantly forgot about playing the innocent, good boy, staring with instant intensity.

Dave peeled off the shirt and tossed it to the side, and Kurt sighed his contentment even as Blaine whimpered around his throbbing cock.

If Blaine was tanned and smooth and perfect, and Kurt was slender and pale and delicate, Dave was...Dave was a  _man._ Dave was tall and thick and solid, he was broad in the shoulders, thick in the chest. He tanned and golden from the waist-up – he loved the sun more than his two appearance-conscious boys did. The thick dark hair across his chest, up his arms, trailing down his stomach made Kurt and Blaine seem bare and young in comparison. He was powerful; strength leaked from him, from his wide shoulders down the thick arms Kurt couldn't get both hands around at their widest – he'd tried – down the solid mass of his powerful chest, down the thick stomach with barely-there beginnings of ridged muscle under the smooth softness of high-school-football-player weight that he couldn't seem to shake.

Dave dropped a lot of weight after high school, after learning in his first semester in college that the kind of weight that made a high school kid a right guard was woefully inadequate on a college team. He had the choice to live in a gym and drown himself in protein supplements, or to brush it off and focus on his classes. Science got him the scholarship, not football, so in the end he made the smart and slimming choice to forget about football. Even years later he couldn't shake the last remnants of his high-school bulk, and his stomach was the only part of him he was at all self-consciousness about.

It was also, maybe not coincidentally, Kurt's absolute favorite part of Dave's body.

Well.  _Second_ favorite.

Dave reached for his jeans, and Kurt's arm's itched to go over there and help him out. He loved kneeling at David's feet, peeling his jeans or slacks or whatever he was wearing down over his thick erection, down his powerful thighs, licking and kissing and adoring every inch of skin he uncovered.

But Dave's attention was on his boys, not himself, so he shoved the jeans down without much fanfare and stepped out of them. He reached for the waistband of the dark green boxer-briefs (thin cotton, clinging and revealing and almost more obscene than being naked: they were a present from Blaine), and paused for just a moment, just enough to wring matching growls of impatience from his two boys.

He stripped them off without further pause, and Kurt's eyes stroked over his body instantly, as they always did. His thighs, paler than his chest but hard and solid and thicker around than Kurt's waist. His cock, thick and broad and begging for hands or mouths, straining proudly erect and flushed deep red at the painfully thick head.

Kurt couldn't look at him without want. He couldn't look without his throat filling with the memory of that cock choking off his oxygen, or wrapped up hot and pulsing in his hands, or pushing so slowly to enter him that Kurt would scream from the fucking want of it.

It was as reflexive as yawning when tired, or his stomach rumbling when hungry. Kurt was Pavlov's dogs, and Dave's cock was the bell that started him drooling.

Dave reached out for Blaine again, casual, as if he didn't notice the way Kurt was suddenly trembling and Blaine was moaning around Kurt's cock.

Dave's finger traced around Blaine's mouth, trailing his straining lips until his knuckles skimmed against Kurt's cock. "You're a good boy," he said, his voice low and thick with anticipation. "But you're only getting fucked because Kurt loves you enough to ask me for it."

He paused, but Blaine didn't look away from him for an instant. "Would you do that for him? You love him that much, baby?"

Blaine's eyes slid from Dave's face over to Kurt. He nodded, swallowing around the head of Kurt's cock, and the truth of it was right there in his eyes.

"Show me." Dave's voice was deeper by then, thicker, his eyes dark and blazing.

Kurt cried out, sharp and high and helpless, as Blaine instantly drove in, pushed down on Kurt's cock, took him in until Kurt pressed into the back of his throat. Until Blaine was gagging, moaning, nose pressed into Kurt's groin but still trying to push even deeper.

Kurt's eyes slammed shut. He squeezed his fists so tight to keep from driving his hips up that he could feel his fingernails breaking skin.

And Dave just moved down Blaine's body, casual easy. "Good boy," he murmured. "And you're not gonna come until I say so, right?"

Blaine whined, sliding back to gasp for air, never letting Kurt's cock fall from his lips. His back was arched, his ass pushing higher eagerly.

"Of course you won't," Dave answered.

Kurt's eyes were glazed, he had to blink hard to focus them. He had to watch, had to stare as Dave's weight made the bed dip, as he moved himself up on his knees behind Blaine. As his strong, rough hands stroked up the curved slope of Blaine's back, making Blaine tremble and pant around Kurt's cock.

Dave's eyes were on Blaine, on the arch of his spine and his own hands trailing up his flawless skin. And then Dave's gaze lifted and his eyes were on Kurt.

Kurt sucked in a broken breath, amazed as he always was by how weighted Dave's eyes could be on him, how heavy that gaze could be.

"Lube, beautiful." Dave's voice was so low, firm.

Kurt's hands were clenched so hard that when he moved, stretched from his tense pose, it actually hurt. He leaned to the side, to the closest of the two bedside tables, and just the shift of his body and the way Blaine's mouth angled differently around him made him start tingling with the inevitable beginnings of an approaching orgasm.

He moved slowly, stalling, pushing the feeling back. The drawer slid open and he groped blindly until his hand found a tube. One of many – they learned long ago to stash lube somewhere in every room of that house. Even the hallway closet had been christened. A couple of times.

Kurt fisted the tube as he straightened, as Blaine's mouth moved and then clenched tight around him again. He thrust the tube out, gritting his teeth to hold back the growing heat in his gut.

Dave just cocked up an eyebrow and held out a hand, palm open.

Kurt cursed (and Dave noticed, damn it, he'd pay for that later) but fumbled with the lid of the tube, jerking it open. He aimed unsteadily towards Dave's palm, but thought better of it. Instead (and he had every bit the performer's instinct that Blaine had), he dragged in a deep breath to regain some kind of control, and carefully squeezed a lick puddle of clear lube into his own palm.

He shut the tube and dropped it off the side of the bed, just wanting it out of the way, and with a prayer for some self-control he looked over Blaine's shivering body to lock eyes with Dave. He brought his hands together and rubbed, spread the lube, warming it in his own palms before reaching for Dave's broad hand with both of his.

Dave's eyes darkened as Kurt took his broad hand and rubbed, coated, slid his slippery fingers between Dave's. Coated his palm, his fingers one by one, wrapped his hand around Dave's thumb and stroked upwards to transfer that warmed lube onto Dave's skin.

Maybe in punishment for taking too long, stalling Dave, Blaine's tongue suddenly dipped up and flickered, fast and wet, against that spot on the underside of his cock where the head met the shaft, the spot that made Kurt see stars.

Kurt jerked, so hard his slicked hands slipped free from Dave's and his head fell back hard against the pillow. His gut tightened, the heat growing there flared like a spark had been lit. He had to pry his eyes open to glare down at Blaine, who looked back at him with a glint in his eyes.

Dave chuckled but didn't speak, drawing back his slicked hand and wrapping his other hand around Blaine's hip to hold him in place.

Blaine's eyes unfocused, he seemed to hold his breath around Kurt's aching cock.

Kurt knew the feeling well. It was him as often as Blaine, exposed and breathless and waiting for the first insistent push of Dave's fingers into his asshole. He knew the exact shudder that was slivering through Blaine's body, knew just what darkened his eyes and made him breathless.

He could see in Blaine's face the moment Dave pressed inside. He couldn't see Dave's hand - and Jesus, there was nothing more beautiful than watching Dave's flesh disappearing into Blaine's body - but he saw Blaine's eyes widen and then close, and felt the vibration of his moan around his cock. He could see Blaine's hands fisting behind his back, saw the color flush dark at Blaine's cheeks.

Blaine was hypnotizing this way, beautiful, and with his lips stretched around Kurt's cock at the same time it was even better.

Kurt watched Blaine's face change, felt the groans around his cock, with every new finger, every drive of Dave's hand deeper into Blaine's body. He couldn't see Dave's hand from where he lay but on Blaine's face he saw every single movement Dave made.

The moment Dave's fingers crooked just that right way, rubbing Blaine's prostate insistently, Blaine vented a cry around Kurt's flesh that made Kurt surge upwards until it was only luck that stopped him from spurting off down Blaine's throat.

"Fuck," Dave murmured, low and smooth. "Fuck me, fucking beautiful. Both of you."

Kurt shut his eyes tightly, because if he met Dave's gaze right then he really would have come.

"Baby. Christ, baby, you ready for me?"

Blaine drew back until his lips were barely caught around the head of Kurt's cock. Kurt felt his nod, wild and jerking, and he bit his lip hard, trying to feel pain that would distract his pleasure away even a little bit longer.

There was a pause, a low groan from Dave, and Kurt brought his lube-coated hands back over his head, his forearm covering his eyes so he wouldn't look, so he wouldn't watch Dave as he coated that lube over his cock, as he pressed inside of Blaine so fucking slowly.

Kurt was shaking all over, damp with sweat, so near to the edge and fighting back against it so hard it was all he could do to catch a breath. At least Blaine knew not to have Kurt too deep in his mouth as Dave readied himself, but the clamp of Blaine's lips and the heat of his mouth kept Kurt hanging on that edge, overheated and shaking with pleasure and unable to either step off or retreat back to safety.

Blaine's lips pressed suddenly, fiercely tight around him, muffling a sharp, desperate sound. Almost pain, almost worrying, but Kurt was too familiar with that sound to worry.

He pushed his arm up off his eyes and looked out, unable not to. He looked down at Blaine, at the pleasure contorting his face. He looked past Blaine at Dave, at his pained, focused face as he so carefully pressed deeper into Blaine's body.

He was big, and if he wasn't careful he could hurt either one of his boys. But they knew each other too well by now. They knew when it was pain causing moans instead of pleasure, and Blaine's bitten-off cries were all pleasure.

Dave pressed in, intensity painted over his strong features. Both his hands were tight around Blaine's hips by then, lube still gleaming dully from one. He fought for breath, teeth gritted, head falling back until Kurt's focus was on the strong line of his throat and his mouth ached to suckle and bite.

And then, with a low grunt he couldn't bite back, Dave was suddenly there. His throat worked, his hands were clenched on Blaine's hips so tight his knuckles were white. Blaine would have bruises in the morning, perfect matching fingerprints that Dave would brush his lips over in unnecessary apology. Kurt had been there, too.

Blaine was still, breathless, back bowed and hands clenched tightly at his spine. He panted for air around Kurt's cock, too obedient to let Kurt free from his mouth entirely. And when he was ready, when he wanted Dave to move, he showed it by sliding down to take Kurt's cock deeper down his throat, going back to his original task.

Kurt and Dave groaned at the same time, Kurt because he was too fucking overstimulated and this was going to be over for him too soon. Dave because with Blaine's motion came permission to move.

Kurt could only watch Dave's body move, his hips drive back and press in, slow and deep, pulling out almost completely before driving back inside. He could feel the Blaine's cries against his cock, could hear how they formed as chokes and gasps around his flesh.

He was close, he was so fucking close that his entire body was shaking like an engine on idle. He reached behind him and grabbed the top of the heavy headboard, slick under his lubed hands but something he could bear down on in a last-ditch attempt to stop himself from coming.

Dave muttered curses, peppered them down on Blaine and Kurt in that bass rumble that sex put into his voice. Kurt had to look away from him, had to drop his cheek to the pillow until his eyes were buried against his upper arm.

Blaine's body shook with Dave's thrusts, and he somehow managed to relax his throat so that the force from Dave's body drove him down on Kurt's cock. So that Dave's grunts and Blaine's choked moans were timed perfectly with the wet heat taking Kurt's cock in.

Kurt squeezed his hands into fists, and desperately he tilted and sank his teeth into the muscle of his arm to push down at the pleasure, the roar of release threatening him.

"Don't come, baby," Dave growled through thick panting breaths. "You don't fucking come until I say so."

Blaine sobbed around Kurt's cock, and Kurt sure as hell hoped that command wasn't meant for him, too, because he was there. He was right fucking there, and-

"Kurt."

His eyes snapped open, and he twisted his head to look out at Dave.

Dave's eyes were all but black on him. He didn't speak, he just nodded.

Kurt arched and cried out, astonishingly loud and broken and uncontrollable, and the heat in his gut exploded outward, spreading thick through his veins and pulsing, hot and liquid and  _hard_ , into Blaine's mouth.

Blaine gasped and choked, but pressed in to take Kurt in deeper, to work his mouth and throat around him until Kurt was pumping his hips to get more of that heat. Until he was empty and mindless and still trying to get more out.

Until it started to slide from unbelievable pleasure into the ache of too much.

Only then did he sag, relax the arch of his back and go blessedly boneless into the mattress.

Blaine slipped off of him, letting Kurt free from the grip of his mouth for the first time since taking him in what felt like hours ago.

Kurt wanted to pass out, but he knew better than that. Besides, forcing his eyes open wasn't a hardship - he could finally watch Blaine's face as he let himself go, as he stopped having to worry about Kurt's flesh in his mouth.

Dave's body ground into Blaine harder then, hard enough to shake the bed under them. His body was fucking  _beautiful_ , thick and strong and gleaming with sweat as he pounded into Blaine's ass.

Kurt could have laid there, spoiled and sated, enjoying the show. But he wasn't so selfish as that.

The light was glittering against Blaine's face, against the drizzle of Kurt's come that had escaped his mouth. And that wouldn't do at all - Blaine hated being messy.

Kurt pushed himself up, forcing his heavy limbs to move, his legs to curl under him so he could twist and lean in and capture that drizzle of come with a sweep of his tongue.

Blaine gasped and tilted his head up, and Kurt gave in to his silent request. They kissed, sharing the taste of Kurt between them as Dave's thrusts rocked them both. Kurt stroked his hand through Blaine's hair, traced the sweat from his hairline down his spine. Blaine groaned, whimpered - bordering on pain, too much, and Kurt remembered then that he wasn't allowed to come.

Sympathy made him withdraw his hands, but he broke the kiss off to look back at Dave in silent request.

Dave was watching them, that fire of possessiveness in his eyes that he always got watching Blaine and Kurt together. But he shook his head even as he pounded faster into Blaine's body.

The punishment was sticking - Kurt wasn't allowed to help Blaine come. Not yet, anyway.

Dave ground his teeth and drove hard into Blaine, and freed one hand from Blaine's hip to reach out to Kurt.

Kurt pulled away from Blaine, and Blaine's abandoned whimper almost managed to make Kurt's cock stir. He slipped around Blaine, moving on hands and knees along Blaine's body until he was obediently in front of Dave, grasping for the offered hand with both of his.

Dave pulled him in and ground their mouths together, panting too hard for the kiss to get too deep. Tasting Kurt, no doubt, in Kurt's mouth. Kurt pressed into the kiss, clutching at his hand since he couldn't seal himself to Dave in any other way without interrupting the fucking.

Dave yanked his hand from Kurt's suddenly, groaning into their kiss and slipping his hand down the line of Kurt's body, squeezing his ass and pressing his finger down between his cheeks, pressing against his opening without trying to slip inside.

Kurt was definitely interested now, though his body was slow to stir. He wasn't half-hard and probably wouldn't manage to get their, but his cock was going to give its best shot.

Dave wasn't interested in dragging this out long enough. He could, God only knew. If he was in the mood he could fuck for hours, slow and rapturous until his boys were writhing nerve endings begging for release. Tonight he wasn't holding back, pounding in hard and fast until his hand clenched around Kurt's ass and he broke their lingering kiss breathlessly.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, making Kurt shiver and Blaine sob brokenly. "So fucking good, baby. Feel so fucking good."

"David," Blaine whimpered, driving back to meet his thrusts and arching forward as if hoping for some kind of stimulation to appear. "Fuck me, fuck me, God, fuck me."

It still did things to Kurt, hearing Blaine choked with lust that way. It made his eyes leave Dave and trace back up the slicked sweaty skin of his back, at the tense clench of his arms behind him, the way his head was thrown back, extending the arch of his spine until his body was one long curve.

It made Kurt want to ignore Dave's commands and dive in underneath him, take his undoubtedly steel-hard cock in his mouth and coax him into roars of pleasure.

But ignoring Dave's commands was impossible.

Dave let Kurt go abruptly, wrapping his hand back around Blaine's hip. He drove into him hard enough that the headboard thumped into the wall - no small feat given how heavy the bed was and how hard to move.

He bared his teeth and threw his head back, all but roaring as he pounded into Blaine.

Blaine was beautiful, vulnerable when he came. Kurt, so they told him, was wanton and unleashed. Dave? Dave came like the world was collapsing in on them and he was ready to push it off. He came with every ounce of the force and strength that shaped his powerful body.

"Yes, fuck, yeah, come in me, fuck fuck David  _fuck,"_ Blaine was mumbling, whimpering.

Kurt couldn't look at them both enough. Sweat was tracking down Dave's throat in a wet line, curving down his chest, and Kurt had to lick it off but couldn't keep his eyes off the arch of Blaine's back and the way his own damp skin gleamed in the light. He didn't know if he wanted to plaster himself to Dave's chest and fucking  _worship_ every hard angle and plane, or if he wanted to devour Blaine's cock until the painful want curving his body relaxed into satisfaction.

Like always, though, Dave made the choice for them, and they were better for letting him do it.

He pushed out of Blaine's body, abrupt, cock still rock hard and gleaming with his come. He lowered dark eyes to Kurt and nodded at Blaine body.

"Clean him up. Make him come."

Blaine was sobbing, shivering, swaying there with his hands still clenched behind his back.

Kurt wasn't instantly sure what 'clean him up' meant until Dave backed up and he could twist to face Blaine's ass, and he saw the swollen, red hole and Dave's cum seeping out.

It wasn't even a guess then. It wasn't something he had done before, but the moment he knew that was what Dave wanted, he wanted it too. Had to fucking have it or he'd collapse right there.

He didn't waste a moment. He planted his hands on Blaine's cheeks, pushing him open and sinking in. He lapped at his asshole, at the dribble of cum tracking downward. Blaine cried out in shock, thick with need, and arched back.

Kurt shut his eyes, tracing the tangy, familiar taste of Dave's cum until his tongue was digging inside Blaine's swollen asshole, searching for more. He barely heard the hungry, greedy sounds coming from his throat as he devoured, probed, slurped at him worse than the sloppiest blow job he ever gave.

 _Make him come,_ Dave had said. From the way Blaine was driving back against Kurt's mouth he thought this might be enough to do it, but he took mercy on Blaine and reached up between his legs, grasping the painfully hard length of Blaine's swollen dick in his hand.

Blaine cried out, guttural and loud, and it only took two solid strokes of Kurt's hand before his cock jerked and pulsed, coating Kurt's hand and the sheets under them with shot after shot of fluid.

Kurt was greedy, he insisted on probing inside Blaine's ass until he had found and devoured every trace of Dave that he could. Only then did he sag backwards and let Blaine collapse gracelessly to the bed.

A solid mass appeared behind Kurt, a strong arm looping around his stomach as Dave pulled Kurt into his chest. They were both still breathing hard, and Kurt twisted his head back and gladly met Dave's mouth in a deep, lewd kiss.

Between the three of them - two, really, since Blaine was pretty much dead where he lay - they had just enough coherence to turn out the lamps and drag the covers up before collapsing into bed. (And making the executive decision that since Blaine was dead he obviously wouldn't mind laying in the wet spot he'd made.)

* * *

It wasn't even a special occasion, either. It was just Friday night.

It wasn't that Kurt was a prude - though he could be outside of the bedroom - it was just that no words were suitable to try to explain his relationship to other people. And the words he might have used were the same kind of words they threw around in half-assed porn movies. Trite, really, compared to the reality.

What Kurt had, what the three of them had, was too complicated and too  _much_ to describe to another person, and it was far too important to Kurt to be stammered over trying to find words that might fit.

When he didn't answer the questions people asked him (again and again), it was because there were only three people in the world who would ever understand the answer, and the three of them already knew.

* * *

Colin doesn't hate Kurt and Blaine. He doesn't hate people. He's an actor, a genial gay man nearing forty, settled down with a husband who loves him and three cats and a brand new Audi in the driveway.

He's got a great life, he doesn't need to envy anyone else. Not to the point of hate.

But when he follows Kurt and Blaine and their mysterious 'He' back to the dressing rooms and manages to convince himself to peek in - it's a public place, after all, and there are people everywhere who might accidentally wander in - he realizes it might be time to rethink his world view.

Because Blaine, beaming, charming, Hollywood-handsome Blaine, is pressed back against the wall-length mirror beside the costume racks, and He is pressed against him, pinning him there as they kiss deep enough to make Colin blush.

'He' has His arm around Kurt, slim, porcelain-skinned fallen-angel Kurt, whose mouth is tracing a path up His throat contentedly.

'He', this thick-muscled, dark-haired, hazel-eyed stranger like something out of Colin's fantasies, is holding on to the two of them as if they're the only things in the world that mean anything. The way some sighing female in a rom-com might describe the kind of love-scene she's always wanted. The way Colin - cynical as he is - never would have imagined existed in real life.

Colin backs out of the dressing room, unnoticed, and with some chagrin has to adjust his jeans a little before turning to face the still-crowded backstage.

And yeah. Okay. Colin's a nice guy with a good life, but he's done denying it to himself.

He fucking  _hates_ those lucky bastards.


End file.
